The Lies Behind Mine
by xxXiannaxx
Summary: AU version of year five. The wizarding world knows about Voldemorts return and there are several new students at Hogwarts. In the middle of all the secrets, fear, and dark magics, will Harry and a new girl find something more or be claimed by the war?
1. Prologue

The Lies Behind Mine

by Xianna

Prologue

I held up the skirts of my robes to keep them from them from tripping me as I ran. I had to get there before something could happen. I had to get there and stop it because I knew that it was all my fault.

No amount of messing with time would fix what had happened.

I ran down the silent stone halls and the echo of my heavy boot sounded in my ears almost as loud as loud as the pounding of my heart. I'd been running so much this night. All over the castle. Looking. Looking but not finding. Where were they? Faces in portraits snorted and snuffed awake as the sound of my running startled them, but I was gone before any of them could question me about my mission.

My mission. Which was ruined. I'd all but failed and the only way to fix what I'd done was to find them and make them stop.

But more than that. More than my mission. I wanted to find him. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him the truth.

My name is Susan.

I am an Untouchable.

I love you.


	2. Chapter One

The Lies Behind Mine

by Xianna

Chapter One The Past

My name is Susan Hillard. I've been special ever since I was born, though I didn't know it until I was about eight. My mother left shortly after I was born. I've never been able to find her, to ask her why she didn't take me with her. To ask her why she left me alone with my father. For years I thought that it was my fault. That the reason my father beat me was the same reason she left.

My father was drunken wizard who bounced from one odd job to another whenever he got fired. He barely made enough to support us and my earlies memory is of trying to make friends with the rat that lived under my bed. It took my father almost a week to take me to St. Mungo's after Stevie bit me, and by then I was delirious with fever. I saw something in my fevered dreams that still occasionally haunts me. A boy who hid in the shadows, following me wherever I went and laughing quietly. Whenever I would turn around to face him, all I could make out were a pair of vivid green eyes before he faded into nothing.

It was also on this trip to Mungo's that I learned that my ability to change what I looked like made me a metemorphagus. I'd been using said trick to hide from my father, so of course I hadn't told anyone about it or known that it was a rare talent. I tried to get the nurses not to tell my father, but I was only five and they didn't listen to me.

A few years later, when I was eight and my father knew that the other children in the hall were really me, I had to go to further lengths to stay away from him. Being either brave or desperate (I've never decided which) I started exploring the other apartment buildings around mine. Or rather, the apartments in them. That was how I met Mr. Winders. Other apartments in his building left doors unlocked or guarded by only weak spells that were easy for me to reverse. Or they left open windows, not expecting a small girl to sneak in and explore the place and play pretend that she lived there with their loving family. But Mr. Winder's apartment was different. His was almost impossible to get into. The charm on his bedroom window was the weakest, and since his very secrecy had made me curious, I spent weeks attempting to break it. When I finally did and let myself in, I was slightly dissapointed. There did not seem to be anything worth going to such trouble to hide. In fact, his apartment was kind of bare and dirty. I was looking at his shoes (you can always tell so much about person by his shoes) when Mr. Winders came home.

Quickly I ducked under the bed. I'd already become pretty good at getting away when people came home too soon, though it was easier if there were kids in the family and I could just mimic them and walk out. But Mr. Winders was different. Mr. Winders knew as soon as he reached his door that someone was in his house. Instead of going to the kitchen or bathroom or falling over on the couch like any other wizard coming home from work, he walked straight into the bedroom, dropped to one knee, and looked under the bed at me.

"Alright, you. Come out from under there."

Abashed, I crawled out and stood before him. I'd hurriedly changed from my natural form to a slightly shorter, fatter girl with black hair and a blunt nose. But I couldn't do anything about my clothes, which were old and dirty but at least fit my new shape.

"How did you get in here?" he asked.

"Through the window," I told him, though it should have been obvious since the window was still open behind me.

Mr. Winders watched me with a sever expression. As if he were measuring me on some deeper level than my ever-changing appearance. In fact, everything about him looked kind of sever. He had a shark, beak-like nose and wiry white hair that stuck out at crazy angles. Finally he sighed and rubbed his nose with one hand.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make you mad or anything and I wasn't going to steal from you. I was just exploring, you see, and I'm really sorry."

"Just go home," he told me, and stepped out of the way so I could leave. But as I passed him he held out an arm to stop me. "What's you're name?"

"Patricia," I told him, giving him the name of the girl I'd copied.

"And where did you get that bruise?"

I looked down at my arm where a bruise showed under from under my sleeve. I couldn't hide my bruises by changing shape any more than I could hide the state of my clothes. "I got it from playing," I told him, tugging my sleeve down to try to cover it.

Mr. Winders didn't look like he believed me and I scurried past him. Before I could leave the apartment he called after me, "If you get hit again, you come back here."

I went back Mr. Winders apartment the next day. He was gruff, and he didn't talk much, but he had a stash of homemade candy from his sister and let me listen to any channel I wanted on the radio. His apartment became my sanctuary and if he didn't talk much, well I talked enough for both of us. Then, after the day my father broke my arm and I had to run to Mr. Winders to have him fix it, he finally got me to tell him who was giving me my bruises. After that he started teaching me how to fight.

I learned fast, and not only because Mr. Winders was a strict teacher. I went to his house every day and he taught me how to punch and block, how to break holds and throw people, how to strike someone in just the right spots. But he also taught me other things: how to expand my ability with wandless magic to break the charms on his door, how to set and break defensive spells, how to put a hex on someone. He even let me use his wand and taught me how to levitate things and cast various spells. I didn't know at the time that children my age weren't allowed to use magic outside of school or even that most of what I was doing would be considered advanced even for students at Hogwarts.

I even learned things he didn't mean to teach me. Like how to move without drawing attention. How to copy accents and movements from other people, instead of just their appearance. And how to cook. Though Mr. Winders and I never made anything exceptional, it was better than the food I got at my father's house.

When I was eleven my Hogwats letter arrived by owl. My father threw it out, mumbling that I didn't need any learning and that he wasn't going to pay for books and wands and cauldrons. I'd been looking forward to going to Hogwarts since I first heard of it, and not only to get away from my father. I wanted to learn, not realizing that Mr. Winders had already taught me most of the basic spells. I wanted to meet other kids. Kids who wouldn't already know me as Susan the Hobo. I wanted to start over and make my own life and my bastard of a father couldn't even be bothered to buy me a wand and take me to the station!

Right after it happened I ran to Mr. Winders apartment and told him everything. Part of my was hoping that he would help me. After all, my father hadn't hit me since he first gave me my fighting lessons three years before. Maybe Mr. Winders would have an answer for this, too.

He did, but it wasn't the answer I was expecting. After looking grave for several minutes, he suddenly asked me if I wanted to run away from home.

After this rather surprising opening he explained to me that he was not a minor curse breaker (something close to a locksmith) but that he worked for the Department of Mysteries. He was an Untouchable. An agent for the Ministry of Magic who did things that had to be done, but that the government would rather not think too much about. Then he told me that I could be an Untouchable as well, that a very few, very special children were used for jobs no adult would be able to complete. And that if I were willing to leave my father and let him adopt me, then I could be one of them.

It wasn't the 'new life' I'd been dreaming of, but it was new. It was new and fresh and exciting and most of all it was away from _him_.

It took less than a month for the paperwork to be done. My father didn't even know what was going on and I doubt he noticed the day I stopped coming home. I stopped using my Patricia look when I officially became Susan Warnshaw (Mr. Winders' real name) and when I first stepped inside the Department of Mysteries, as every time after that, it was in my natural form. Here, at least, was a place where I wouldn't have to hide from everyone.

For more than three years I worked as an Untouchable. At first it wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped. I made deliveries. I followed people. I worked with adult Untouchables to help make their friendly and harmless guises seem more real. I asked questions and explored places that would have been suspicious if an adult had done them. Basic stuff. I didn't get my first fight until I was 13, and I only killed one man those first three years. And I didn't get my first solo assignment until I was 15.

When I would have been half-way through my fourth year at Hogwarts, the Department got information that Voldemort (none of the Untouchables called him You-Know-Who) was planing something at the Tri-Wizards Tournament. No one could uncover any details, or even confirm what we did know, though there were dozens of witches and wizards trying to do just that. In the meantime, someone had to watch Hogwarts, and maybe even stop Voldemort's evil plot. If he had one. There were only three underage Untouchables at the time, and Hillary was too young at a mere ten-years-old. I was sure Patrick would be sent, but Mr. Winders surprised me on my birthday (not on purpose, it just worked out like that) with the news that my next mission would be to attend Hogwarts as what essentially amounted to a government spy. I was going in order to spy on the kids.

At fifteen, I was a little vain about my looks. I had long, pale blond hair and light grey-green eyes and only a very light tan. Altogether, my coloring gave me a decidedly delicate look, helped by my heart-shaped face, tiny nose, and trim figure. Even though I was a metamorphagus, I stayed in my natural shape as much as possible. But for my mission I would have to blend in as much as possible, be completely forgettable and almost invisible. After a few days of experimenting I came up with a look to match my new code name: Helen Schmidt. As Helen, I was a short girl, neither thin nor fat and with very few curves. I had shoulder length, curly brown hair, brown eyes, and even some non-prescription wire-frame glasses. The only thing distinguishing about me (besides the glasses) was the snub nose I'd worn for the years I pretended to be Patricia. I also had to trade in my official Ministry robes for old hand-me-downs and pick out a leisure wardrobe of faded jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters to take with me. They did, at least, allow me to take the wand Mr. Winders had given me when he adopted me. It was a little too grand to go with the rest of my look, but I could always say it was an heirloom or something. Plenty of people used family wands.

And so I was quietly sorted into Hufflepuff. (The Sorting Hat probably would have put in Ravenclaw, but even my house had been picked for me as part of my cover.) On the outside I was a quiet girl who studied a lot and kept up average grades. When people asked, I told them I'd been home schooled by my Mom until money problems made her go back to work, but few people asked. I even affected a crush on the Hufflepuff champion, Cedric Diggory. No one suspected that I was years ahead of them in their classes, or that within a few months I knew the castle and it's secret passages inside and out. That I was already keeping files of several students (most of them Slytherin) and even more of the teachers.

But I made one fatal mistake. I didn't watch Mad-Eye Moody. He was a famous Auror, a man who had given more body parts to defeating Voldemort than the old Care of Magical Creatures professor had given to his class. If anything I assumed he was on a mission similar to mine and as professional courtesy tried to stay out of his way. Because of this, because I couldn't do the simple job of just _watching_ a school, Cedric died, Voldemort returned, and everyone's lives were thrown into chaos.

Hillary and Patrick joined me as Grace and Aaron, respectively. Hillary came as a normal first year and Patrick blended in with the rush of home schooled kids who parents suddenly wanted them tucked away in a safer place. Though the Department said it was because Hogwarts had become a major target, I first thought it was because I'd failed to stop Crouch. I found out later it was really because the adults thought we'd be safer there. Years of training us and working and fighting with us hadn't managed to override the parental view most of them had.

But it was true that with more kids and more fear and more information, there was more work for all three of us to do. So they gave each of us one more thing to help us and keep us safe.

A time turner.


	3. Chapter Two

The Lies Behind Mine

by Xianna

Chapter Two The Escape

**AN - HPFan42 pointed out that they are Unspeakables and not Untouchables. Thank you HPFan42. I will fix that with the next update, but forgot to do that with this one. Also, sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Real life and all that shit. You know how it goes. Now, on with the show!**

Hillary, Patrick and I were hanging out in the Shrieking Shack. It was our official meeting place, but we'd also adopted it as a place to hang out. It was really the only place we could relax together, since 'Grace' was in Gryfendor and 'Aaron' was in Slytherin and as it had been for hundreds of years, the houses were badly divided. As Helen the Hufflepuff I could have conceivably socialized with either of them, if Helen were the type to socialize at all. But only here could all three of us, Ravenclaws at heart, talk in relative comfort.

We'd already covered official business. We each received owls with coded orders, but it was still better to meet and compare notes rather than work independently. Besides, they were my only real friends in the school. Any of the Hufflepuffs I talked to were Helen's friends, and hard as it was becoming to do, I liked to think of her as separate from myself. As if she were a role I were playing.

Besides that, it was November 21st, Hillary's 12th birthday. To simplify things, it was Grace's birthday, too, and thanks to the time-turned she was simultaneously attending a party in her dorm room in Gryfendor tower, but Patrick and I had managed to get her favorite dessert from the house elves and held our own little party in the Shack.

Hillary was a precocious child, still gangly from a recent growth-spurt and with blue eyes and strawberry blond hair and a ready, open smile that made people instantly adore her. Patrick was almost the opposite; tall but well muscled with black hair and dark green eyes and face that far too many girls fell for, despite the almost constant brooding look. Neither of them were metamorphagi, and rather than depend on easily detected charms and spells, they had decided to remain themselves, sometimes wearing wigs or makeup to do their work.

"That was really good, guys, but now I'll never be able to eat Renee's cake." Hillary giggled as she patted her stomach. Rather than use her time turner to return to the meeting, she was planing to use hers to return to her party and so hadn't eaten yet.

"Glad you liked it," Patrick told her, smiling now that he didn't have to keep up the disaffected rich-boy look.

"So, do you two have dates to the Yule Ball yet?"

Patrick grimaced. "Pansy's been trying to get me to ask her."

I shot up from where I'd been lounging, almost laying, on a cushion on the floor. "You can't do that!"

Hillary giggled again. "Why? You want him to ask you, Sue?"

I managed to hide a blush. We hadn't told Hillary, or anyone else, but Patrick and I had started...not dating. Perhaps 'exploring' was a better word. But that didn't trick me into thinking I had any rights to his affection. "No, I don't want to with him. But Pansy is that prick Draco's girlfriend." I turned back to Patrick. "Don't you dare do anything to screw with that guy; we still haven't found his dad yet."

Patrick brushed away my concern with a wave of his hand. "I know that; I'm not an idiot. Besides, Pansy kind of scares me."

"Scares you?"

"She's stalking me. She stole my Potions book and tried to put a charm on it. She even tried to follow me into the bathroom once."

If Patrick was looking for sympathy, he shouldn't have told us. Hillary and I both burst out laughing. He glowered and taught us a few new curse words.

"Who did you go with last year?" Hillary asked me once we'd both calmed down.

"No one. I didn't come until after winter break. And I probably won't even go to this one. It's a stupid idea, anyway. There wasn't any Yule Ball before the Tournament, why'd they have to keep it?"

The truth was, I actually agreed with Dumbledor's decision to hold the ball again. With Voldemort's Death Eaters on the loose, not many parents wanted their children to leave the relative safety of Hogwarts. And with the tension that had been building since that summer, many of the faculty though a party would be a good chance for the students to forget that for a while and relax. Thus, the Yule Ball had made a comeback and replaced the normal, small Christmas Dinner. But I didn't have a date. Helen had done too good a job of blending in, and no one had asked me to go. And while I would have liked to go with Patrick, or even 'Aaron,' it wasn't good for either of our covers.

Besides, Mr. Winders had never taught me how to dance. I knew more charms and curses and hexes than half the faculty, I could break any defense, throw a spell without a wand or a sound, sneak anywhere, steal anything, be anyone. Hell, I could even kill a man six ways with my bare hands and out-duel a Death Eater, but no one had bothered to teach me how to dance. Who goes to Balls these days anyway?

"I think I'm just going to stay in the dorm," I continued, having barely paused to think all this.

"Aw, come on. You can't miss the Yule Ball! Even I'm going."

"What? You didn't tell us that. Only third year and up can go."

"Dennis Creevy invited me."

Patrick and I exchanged shocked glances. "I don't like him," I announced, though I'd little occasion to talk to either of the Creevy brothers.

"How can you not like him? You don't even know him."

"I still don't like him. Patrick, you'd better find a date so you can keep an eye on the Dennis boy."

Patrick didn't answer because he was too busy laughing at me.

"Oh." Hillary threw a napkin at me and I let it hit me so I could pretend to be hurt. "It's not like that, Sue. He's just nice and he knew I wanted to go so he invited me."

"Right. That's how it always starts, isn't it?"

"Shut up. I can take care of myself."

I didn't press the matter after that. For all she was only twelve, Hillary could, indeed, take care of herself. I had personally taught her all the holds and throws I could think of, since she didn't share my aptitude for wandless magic, and she'd even managed to subdue me once or twice. No, this Dennis boy didn't stand a chance. But I still didn't like him.

After a few more jokes and jibes, and Patrick's reluctant promise to ask a certain sixth-year to the dance, we broke up and went our separate ways. It was near the time I'd left to use the bathroom and if I took too long to pee, someone might get suspicious. Or maybe not. Few people noticed my coming and goings and no one seemed to care.

I stopped before the entrance to the tunnel and sighed before making the mental shift that changed me once again into Helen Schmidt.

I pushed my fake glasses further up the bridge of my nose as I watched the last student stumble out of the common room on his way to bed. Once again, I'd spent the whole evening curled up by the side of the fire with a book, and not a single person had stopped to talk to me. Outside of a few 'Hey, Helen's but those were more automatic courtesy than anything else. No one's ever accused Hufflepuff House of being discourteous.

But courtesy wasn't enough for me. I wanted friendship and romance and warmth and few stolen hours a week in the Shrieking Shack only served to show how desperately empty the rest of my life was. Perhaps that's why I'd begun 'exploring' with Patrick. Or perhaps it was because I'd stubbornly refused to let my Helen facade develop anything interesting and no one else was particularly interested. Either way, on nights like this one where the solace in my life seemed to overtake me I desperately needed even the false romance we shared.

I didn't need to turn the time-turner to get away from the common room since there was no one to watch me. Instead I simply put my book away (a fiction book from the library on the outside, but a horridly dry study of aerodynamic spells on the inside) and walked out the port. I was Helen the Invisible. Even if anyone was around to see me, they wouldn't notice or note my passing. For one irrational moment I wanted to run to the hall leading to the dorm rooms and shout "Hey! I'm sneaking off to see my boyfriend!" Just to see if anyone would notice me then. Probably not.

Once I was out and about it was easy to find Patrick. I just walked around as obvious as possible until he found me. One of the three of us always kept an eye on the castle at night, sometimes even all of us.

That night Patrick caught me in a hallway of classrooms. He managed to sneak up behind me without my noticing and pull me into one of the empty classrooms. He had a hand over my mouth to keep me from yelping, but I was too good to make a sound because someone surprised me and I recognized his scent before instinct made me fight back.

"You know I hate it when you do that," I told him once we were safely inside. He knew I was jealous of the way he could move quieter than I could.

"Yeah, I know," he said and grinned at me. It wasn't the same grin he used in front of Hillary. It was a grin that knew what was coming next and was far too pleased with itself.

I tucked my fake glasses in a pocket of my robe and changed back to my natural form. Patrick hardly waited for me to finish before wrapping his arms around me and ducking his head to kiss me.

Patrick was my friend. He cared for me. But what we did in empty classrooms and shadowed alcoves was entirely self-serving and I knew it. I knew it in the way he never talked about. In the way he never touched me before I dropped my Helen look. Even in the way he kissed me. In the way his hands roamed over me as if I were a statue, or a pleasurable, if confusing puzzle, rather than another person. I knew it because I did it, too. I wasn't looking for some great love in Patrick. We'd both been Untouchables since before puberty and it meant just that: that we were untouchable. We only had each other.

I missed it. I missed what so clearly should have been there but wasn't. Even as he continued to kiss me and his hands slid inside my robe and my body told me that everything he was doing was right my heart told me that it was all wrong. But since they both couldn't be happy I was going to at least let my body have what it wanted. And I trusted Patrick not to let the issue get too complicated.

Some time later Patrick kissed the top of my ear and whispered, "I really should get back out there."

I traced the lines of his muscled arm with one fingertip and snuggled closer to him. "If you're going to start talking about what we should be doing, you shouldn't be in here at all," I told him. "What would Micheal say if he knew you were blowing off work to sleep with a coworker?" I was referring to his 'parent,' his equivalent to my Mr. Winders.

Patrick laughed and brushed the hair out of my face. "He'd probably congratulate me," he answered truthfully. "Or, he might ask me if anything else was getting blown."

I made an offended sound and punched him lightly. Truth was I enjoyed our little moments at the end of our encounters and wanted it to last as long as possible. Curled up by his side, I could forget for a moment and pretend that the arms around me were ones that loved me.

Patrick looked at me with a satisfied expression that he couldn't quite hide, he dark green eyes almost black in the gloom. I glowed with pleasure, remembering all the ways I'd put it there. Then he sighed and rested his cheek against the top of my head. "You know I'd stay here all night with you if I could."

"Yeah, I know," I said with a sigh. "But you can't so you might as well get gone. Besides, I'm freezing." Which was true. We were sitting on top of our clothes to keep off the stone floor and the parts of me that weren't touching him were starting to turn blue.

He dressed quickly, gave me one last, companionable kiss on the cheek, and slipped silently out the door.

I watched him go, then shivered and got dressed as well. As always after I did something with Patrick or Hillary, I wondered vaguely if I shouldn't have done it. If seeing them and being someone other than Helen for a while was keeping me sane, it was also driving me insane. It only reminded me that to the rest of the world Helen Schmidt was a nobody, that I was friendless and loveless, and the all too infrequent moments of joy I shared with them served only to punctuate the vast stretches of loneliness that marked the rest of my life.

I took out my glasses and sighed, wanting to do anything but turn back into Helen. In a sudden, impulsive moment, I decided not to. I was a metamorphagus; I could be anyone I wanted to. But I couldn't walk around as myself. I was far too paranoid for that. So I made my hair long and curly and a dark, rich shade of red. My eyes turned sea-blue and the face around them long and elegant. I made my body taller and softer, less obviously muscled. Satisfied that even Patrick wouldn't recognize me, I stepped out of the classroom.

The problem with my plan, I quickly discovered, was that there was no one to show off my new look to. I wasn't even completely sure that I had any kind of plan to begin with. But I told myself that at least it was different and walked around Hogwarts as if I owned the place, rather than scurrying along behind my classmates as Helen, or sneaking around as Susan-who-still-looked-like-Helen. I wanted to be bold for once in my life and if no one was around to see it, well, I was undercover so it was probably for the better. Besides, I had enough imagination to make up for the lack of people. I'd done the same thing as a child pretending to have a family.

Eventually I made my way up to the owlery, which, if you didn't mind the smell, offered the best view of the castle and surrounding grounds besides the astronomy tower, but there were often random star-gazers completing homework assignments there.

I smiled to myself as I walked around the room to one of the outside ledges. The rafters above me were almost empty, as only the laziest owls were still inside at this of night. Once there, I leaned against the railing and took a deep breath of the clean, cold air that was blowing in off the lake.

"Um, hello?"

I turned, startled but ready to fight, and was met with a pair of vivid green eyes. For a moment those eyes were all I could see. They caught my attention and I stared, transfixed, and the very eyes that had been laughing at me from the shadows since I was five.

It took me several seconds to pull my attention back and see the rest of the boy. He was a little taller than my new height, with the skinny look of someone still growing into their shape and had messy black hair. All together he looked like a younger, lighter, less debonair version of Patrick, but with thick glasses. He was also petting a snowy owl that rested on the railing beside him.

I noticed all of this in a moment (which made the several seconds I spent staring at his eyes seem even more ridiculous) and hurriedly tried to recover myself. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else was up here."

"I just came up to see Hedgwig," he informed me, unnecessarily. "I'm Harry Potter," he said suddenly, and held out a hand to me.

"Oh." I shook his hand awkwardly, still caught off guard by both his presence and his eyes.

Of course, I already knew he was Harry Potter. The scar and glasses made him easily recognizable, even if I didn't know by name almost every student at Hogwarts. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Son of Lily and James Potter. Spends the summers with his maternal aunt. Usually seen with Hermoine Granger, muggle-born, no siblings, and Ron Weasley, wizarding family, six siblings, three attending Hogwarts. Seaker for his house Qudditch team, surviving Hogwarts champion, often seen with the Keeper of the Keys, Hagrid. And the most sought-after Death Eater target. Hillary had already averted three assassination attempts. Best at Defense Against the Dark Arts.

My mind ran through all these useless facts in an instant and I realized that he was waiting for my name. I couldn't tell him Susan. And I couldn't tell him Helen, either. I needed a cover. Again. But I never made up my own covers, they were always given to me before hand. Damn that impulsive moment!

A name. A name. Something more exciting than 'Susan' or 'Helen.' What name...

"I'm Cassandra," I told him, giving him the first name that I thought of. Damn! Cassandra was my imaginary friend when I was younger. Why did I give him her name?

"Cassandra," Harry repeated, as if he were testing it out. I noticed then that he was still holding my hand. I looked pointedly at our hands and he took the hint and dropped it. "So, do you have an owl here?"

"Um, no. I just came up for the view." Cover. Need a cover... I'm Cassandra. From Ravenclaw. (The house that had the fewest classes with Gryfendor) Haven't seen me before? I've been here. Would that pass? Or should I say I'd transferred in?

But Harry didn't ask me anything that needed a cover. He just stood there in awkward silence, slowly stroking the feathers on Hedgwig's breast. It took me another moment or two to realize that Harry was embarrassed. I was so used to arrogant, self-assured guys like Patrick to know what to do with someone shy.

"She's a beautiful bird," I said, trying to start a conversation. "How long have you had her?"

"Hagrid gave her to me for my birthday."

"Oh? You know the Groundskeeper?"

That seemed to be a safe enough topic for both of us and Harry seized on it and eagerly told me all about how he'd first met the half-giant. He was a decent story teller, and it was nice to have a human side to add to the basic facts I already knew about the man. He started to tell me about the class where Hagrid had introduced Buckbeak, but ended it suddenly and awkwardly. I pretended not to notice, since I knew what he was avoiding talking about. While the fate of one hippogriff wouldn't normally mean much, the Department of Mysteries kept track of all time-turner use and Harry and Hermoine's exploits that evening were both admired and the but of many jokes among the Untouchables.

So we switched to talking about Qudditch. I was good enough at making small talk (it's the best way to assure a source or target or even to get someone to let slip innocent information) and that seemed to be what put Harry at ease. He responded to the almost unconscious encouragement I was trained to give and I steered the conversation to stay on 'safe' topics. Soon enough I started to wonder if he really had been shy, or if that had been just a quirk of my startled mindset.

I didn't realize what time it was until Hedgwig returned with a mouse to offer Harry. He grimaced and left it on the railing after she returned to her rafter. "She's always doing that," he told me.

"It's sweet; she's giving you a present," I told him in a softly teasing tone. But it was getting late, about the time Patrick would stop watching mischievous students and assume everyone still out was up to real trouble. "I, uh, I think I should probably get going now," I told him.

"Oh. Sure." He seemed unusually sad to see me go, but I had to get back to bed before Patrick noticed either an unaccounted for new student, or Helen still up and with nothing to do. Either would be hard to explain.

Before I reached the door of the owlry, Harry called after me, "Do you come up here often?"

I decided, in another impulsive moment, that I'd start to make a habit of it. "Yeah," I called, then slipped out the door before either of us could say something embarrassing.


End file.
